


The Curious Case of Louis Weasley and the Hufflepuffs

by caralavender



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Class Differences, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caralavender/pseuds/caralavender
Summary: Headmaster Longbottom, enclosed below are my reasons for transferring houses.
Relationships: Louis Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	The Curious Case of Louis Weasley and the Hufflepuffs

"Headmaster Longbottom, my application to transfer out of the Hufflepuff house."

The man who sits in front of me is middle aged and starting to crease at the forehead from excessive worrying. As he moves his head down to examine the hefty amount of paperwork I have presented him with, he frowns, taking his time shuffling through each uncreased page. 

"Er, Louis," Neville Longbottom says. "I don't know know how to tell you this but there's no rule in Hogwarts that allows you to transfer houses."

"Ah!" I lift up a finger. "Conversely, there's also no rule saying that it is impossible!"

See, I've come prepared for the meeting. Some might even call me a Ravenclaw for my preplanning organization. Well, excluding the stupid ol' Sorting hat that seemed to think I was nothing other than a Hufflepuff. It only took a minute to sit on my head and boom:

_STINKY LITTLE LOSER LOUIS IS A HUFFLEPUFF!!!!_

Okay, so he didn't exactly say that but it was the underlying meaning. 

"I'm not sure you are right about that," Neville mutters but even he doesn't look so convinced.

It's such a simple rule, you'd think it'd be there somewhere. But trust me, I scoured every single dusty book with cobwebs and holes in between every punctuation mark—nothing.

I'll also have you know that I made sure to crosscheck my sources with my big headed cousin Rose who also happens to have be Head girl this year. Top of the class, always wins in arguments, red hair, freckles...You get the picture, right?

Rose, like the majority of my cousins, is afflicted with a strong case of Weasley genes, something that me and my Delacour sisters are somehow spared from for better or worse.

It's not like I think I'd look good with red hair but I don't think I'd mind a smattering of freckles across my nose like James or Freddie has. But I wouldn't mind having some semblance of likeness to my Weasley side. Even my sisters who are arguably more blonde than me still contain a great amount of the freckle-face hothead genes floating around inside their thin-boned skeletons. 

(That's another thing about the Delacours. We have very, very thin skin and thin bones. If you push me, I am almost certain I will probably crack into tiny little pieces and you'd have to put me all back together again like that giant egg boy from the fairytales.)

I'm practically all Delacour, a rare demonstration of the dichotomy between Weasley, Delacour, and Potter. Even Al who is practically all Potter—specifically of the Harry variety—has inherited the mischievous grin that all Weasley's must have. 

When I smile, or so I'm told, I look like more like a serial killer than a silly boy trying to stir up some harmless mischief. Apparently, my eyebrows don't quirk up enough.

That's another thing. I'm blonde! My eyebrows are despicably faint, even with the top secret perma-tint that Dom applies on me every other month.

"Just check the books," I tell Neville, hoping that he'll crack under the pressure I am putting him under. Instead, he starts on some big spiel about how transferring houses is "unheard of" and "unprecedented" and "you shouldn't try to fight magic that is stronger than you." 

I mean, what do I have to do? Petition to that damn hat Honestly, I think he skipped over my time or got distracted by the family name and ended up randomizing the houses to mix up the Weasley-to-Gryffindor pipeline.

Maybe he's getting senile, seeing as how he called Albus a stinky, slimy Slytherin and me a little poopy Hufflepuff that year. 

It could've been an off year for him.

Honestly, I think it's unfair that he spends more time on more "complex" students while I got only a minute of his time where our conversation went like the following:

_Hat: Ooh, a Weasley! And a Veela!!_

_Me: Yes...?_

_Hat: Hmm...Definitely not Ravenclaw._

_Me: ...Uh..._

_Hat: Probably not Slytherin either. Gryffindor, maybe._

_Me: Am I supposed to talk to you or something? Do I speak out loud?_

_Hat: Yeah, okay—HUFFLEPUFF!_

_Me: WHAT THE FUCK?_

It didn't help that I had no real understanding of what the houses are officially described as, only fragments of information my older cousins passed down to me. Older cousins meaning James and Freddie who basically said "Gryffindor rules, every other house stinks especially the stinky Slytherins!"

Ask them about Hufflepuff and they just dissolve into a fit of laughter.

When I got sorted as a Hufflepuff, they went into near hysteria in the Great Hall. Fred was so close to puking his guts out over the prepared feast out of his own amusement. James couldn't stop exclaiming "HUFFLEPUFF?" over and over while slapping his knees quite dramatically.

My sisters, on the other hand, were shellshocked. When I made eye contact with them, Dom just looked pissed as if it was my fault the stupid hat didn't give me the time of day while Victoire was trying to put on an encouraging face that came off more like pity. 

Six years later and I'm still in the same bleeding house, stuck at the same bleeding table. Not that I actually sit with them. I did try to make friends at the beginning, but it's so much easier to hang out with my cousins who are used to my off putting cynicism and bitterness. 

I've been making my case to transfer out of the Hufflepuff House public since the middle of fifth year when our schedules were matched with the bloody Claws who I almost can't stand more than the Puffs themselves. My little outbursts got a bit of attention at first—I even made the news! Well, a small feature in the Hogwarts newsletter but it was news nonetheless. 

But then, as time went by, no one really cared about me claiming to do something I never actually did which, of course, led the Gryffindors to smirk and say, "You're clearly just a cowardly Hufflepuff!" while some of the Hufflepuffs started to whisper about me in the corridors, "You're not a REAL Hufflepuff, we would never propose something as insensitive and demeaning to our house," which is like...yeah.

Obviously.

Hence my problem. 

I need an out. And, starting today, I've made it officially official. I filed a case to the Headmaster and despite him looking at me as if I am completely mental, I have faith in my ability to be as stubborn as possible. 

That might be the only Weasley trait I've gotten, but then again, my mum is quite stubborn, even more so than my father whose more easy-going than anything. 

"Erm, Louis?" 

"Yes, Nev—Headmaster Longbottom?" 

Neville examines me behind my transfer application. He's reached the 20 page essay where I detail the many reasons I do not fit in with the Hufflepuffs.

My thesis statement: Hufflepuffs are little losers and I am not a loser. The actual statement is written with much more words and sophisticated language, but essentially, the same thing. 

"This is highly offensive to your house, not to mention, intrusive to a few of your peers." He says, probably referring to what I said in my 56th footnote on page 10. 

It really wasn't that bad, I just made a reference to the little ménage à trois involving Lottie Holmes and Nathan Lee and Tom Seymour. The whole castle knows about it anyways! 

Don't get me wrong—it's not like I don't respect the Hufflepuffs, I do. 

Well, sort of.

Eh. 

No, I do. 

Kinda. 

Okay, maybe not. But all I know is that I refuse to be a Hufflepuff forever and I refuse to graduate as a Hufflepuff.

It's my final year at Hogwarts and I don't think I can take another year of being known as Dom's little Hufflepuff loser brother. Other than that, my reputation is pretty much nonexistent. I've heard, or so Roxanne has told me, I'm known for being a French snob who either believes himself too good to date any of the Hogwarts girls or I'm gay. 

Which I'm not.

(That applies to both, actually.)

It's not like I haven't had any crushes on any girls at Hogwarts. They've just all happened to be, erm, a bit older. After all, growing up with older sisters who loved to have their friends over all the time and force makeovers on me, my first interactions with girls happened to be with ones two years older than me. 

And I have had girlfriends! Well, I've had one and it lasted only two months over the summer and honestly, I don't know her last name. James and Freddie think that she might've been my third cousin twice removed since we looked so alike. 

It might come as a surprise that I don't have that much experience with girls. The whole veela thing makes people assume I'm a major arsehole-douchebag-dickhead but the power of my "beauty" hasn't really affected me at all. No double takes, no surprise marriage proposals, nothing.

(Don't get me wrong—I've done things with girls before! Well, sorta. I dunno what counts as things.) 

The most that's ever happened to me was when a barista spilled hot coffee down my front because she was too busy staring at my face. But even that incident is widely debated seeing as I did have a great deal of muffin crumbs leftover on my chin. 

"Listen, Louis. You've never been much of a troublemaker at this school, with or without comparison to your cousins' previous nature. You're one of our best students at Potions, Professor Whig has only great things to say about you."

The "but" edges closer with each word.

"But I can't grant your request to transfer. I'm afraid it's not possible."

I pull a face. He sighs.

"You've only got one year left anyways. Don't you want to graduate with the house you started with?" 

Hell no. 

"Headmaster," I say. "You don't understand—we have to crawl to get into our dorms! Why don't they have normal doors? You know, this sort of thing isn't very accessible for students with leg injuries or—"

"Louis, we are magical beings. We have wands—"

"And the plants! They talk! It's creepy!" 

Neville who is also the school's Herbology Professor frowns at this. 

"Erm," I try to backtrack. "Not like there's anything wrong with Herbology. I just don't like when the cacti open their mouths, they are supposed to have teeth, you know?"

He doesn't seem too convinced.

"Also," I break out my most dramatic example. "I nearly got blinded when I did the password wrong last year. The barrel burst out at me and I was doused in vinegar! I mean, is that not a sign that I shouldn't be in the house or what?"

"....Louis, these are all personal anecdotes and they're very, erm, lovely, but they don't really prove anything other than the fact that you don't like the Hufflepuff Common room for aesthetic reasons."

He's not wrong. But the way he's saying it feels like I'm wrong for looking down on the Hufflepuffs.

"Yes," I say. 

"I'm sorry," He says. "But transfers have never happened in the history of Hogwarts and trust me, there have been far more pressing reasons for other students to transfer."

"Yeah," I scoff. "Like what?"

"Well, back in the day, Purebloods would nearly torture the Muggleborn students..."

Okay, so now I really do look like a major arsehole-douchebag-dickhead. I flush as Neville continues giving me a crash course on why I should only speak what I plan to say.

"I have to say," He says. "I'm a bit surprised you would come to this conclusion. You've always struck me as a very respectful and compassionate young man. Those are fine qualities, Hufflepuff qualities."

"But a Hufflepuff wouldn't make a public denouncement of his entire house, would he?"

Aha! I've got him there. Neville furrows his eyebrows, trying to figure out a response.

"Well," He finally says in a laconic way. "Maybe a Hufflepuff whose got something to prove."

I scowl.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I curse to myself silently in my head on the way back to the stupid Hufflepuff Common Room. The only perk of being a 'Puff is the location of the dorms. It's all underground so it keeps warm in the winter, plus it's near the kitchens.

The worst thing about it is the password. Technically, we don't "have a password" but we do and in my own personal opinion, it's more difficult than memorizing a verbal password that changes every week from "Rumpelstiltskin's toejam" to "boysenberry."

Our password requires physical movement which is something I really hate. I'd much rather stay on the ground for the rest of my life like a slug. 

There's this obscure pile of large barrels, stacked right near the kitchens. It actually looks pretty creepy with the dim lighting and everything. You have to tap a certain barrel in a certain pattern and rhythm to the name of Hufflepuff's founder.

If you're wondering what happens if you're carrying loads of schoolwork or something else of the sort, allow me to recall my incident with the vinegar dousing in sixth year. I tried to tap on it with my foot all the while balancing my various scrolls and books and, fine, boxes of strawberry bon bons. Apparently I was off a beat or two because it erupted seconds later.

Let me tell you, informing your professors that your essay is unreadable and smells like vinegar because "the barrels in from of the Hufflepuff Common Room ate it" does not go over too well. 

"Talking to yourself, Frenchie?" I turn to see Lottie Holmes raising an eyebrow at me. "You doing okay?"

No. 

"Fine," I grunt. "I just hate this bloody password." 

"Need any help?"

Bloody Hufflepuffs. Why are they so nice? 

I don't actually mind Lottie, even though she's part of a throuple with Nathan Lee and Tom Seymour that sorta freaks me out. They're always crawling through the tunnels that connect the dormitories and making a lot of weird noises when they think no one's in the dorms. 

Number one safety rule at Hogwarts: Assume that there's always someone in the dorms. Otherwise, you end up scarring an innocent and unwilling Hufflepuff named Louis Étienne Weasley who did not consent to witnessing three of his classmates slobbering over each other in the nude. 

"I heard about your vinegar incident last year," She adds with a light laugh. "It can get quite annoying when you're carrying a bunch of stuff. Wanna see a trick?" 

No. 

"Sure," I say. I already know what it is. Countless amounts of Hufflepuffs have showed me the little trick where, if carrying a bunch of things, use your pinky instead of your foot. 

"Here it is!" Lottie brandishes her pinky out. 

Called it.

The whole pinky thing doesn't even work for me because my fingers are too weak and thin to be registered as a touch by the barrel.

Again, us Delacours have fragile bones. 

The door springs open to reveal the stupid tunnel you have to crawl through which also makes zero logical sense when you've got boatloads of stuff to carry.

Are Hufflepuffs just supposed to be without accessories at all times?

The common room is all yellow and circular. Even the couches are arranged in a circular direction. The windows are circular. The tunnel doors to our dorms are circular. It makes me dizzy.

Ooh, maybe I'll tell Longbottom I've got vertigo! 

No, but the Gryffindor Tower is high up...

There's a bunch of plants here too, some that have been enchanted to talk and dance from the old Head of House. I don't mind the dancing, it's actually very cute. But the talking is too much. Why'd she have to enchant them to have teeth? That's just not right to me.

"Lottie! Hey, Louis!" Tom Seymour waves to me, his other hand enlaced in Nathan Lee's. Lottie bounds over to them on the couches and kisses them both on the lips. 

I pull a face and they pretend not to see it.

"Frenchie!" 

That's another thing about the Hufflepuffs. They like calling me Frenchie because whenever I get mad, I start cursing them all out in French which is effective since none of them know when I'm calling them hateful names that would probably send them into cardiac arrest. 

I fake a smile as I turn to face the blonde girl standing behind me. "Hi, Wren."

Wren is a seventh year Hufflepuff, friends with all the seventh year Hufflepuff girls since all the Hufflepuffs are friends, bonded especially by year and gender. I don't know much about her except that her dad's a dentist and she plays Chaser on the Quidditch team. 

We're also Potion partners which I'm not too jazzed about seeing as how she doesn't seem to like Potions all too much but she's one of those people who feel bad when they don't do any work in a group project. And seeing as how I'm intensely passionate about Potions, it's hard to concentrate when Wren is popping up by my side and offering her deepest apologies for not doing anything. 

Our conversations normally go a little like this:

_Wren: Do you need help?_

_Me: Nah, I've got it._

_Wren: Sorry._

_Me: No, don't be._

_Wren: (laughs)_

_Me: (laughs)_

_Wren: Sorry, do you need help?_

And repeat. 

Now, she smiles at me, revealing a smile full of straight, dentist-approved teeth. "You ready for Potions tomorrow?" 

"Uh huh." I say. 

"Alright," She giggles. "I'll see you then, Frenchie."

I run a hand through my hair, sighing slightly. The friendly treatment is nice at times, but I can't help but feel like I don't deserve it. Well, I know I don't really deserve it. Most of the Hufflepuffs wouldn't really like me if they weren't Hufflepuffs, but they do tolerate me and their version of toleration is basically a Slytherin's version of soulmates. 

"Frenchie!" Another 'Puffer calls out to me. I gnash my teeth down into a tight lipped smile and nod my head at Yasmin Greene. She waves me over. 

Nononono—my legs act against my will and I'm headed over to the direction of where she's sitting with a few of her friends at the study tables.

"Hey, Lou," She says in her weird lilted accent that I still cannot place. "How're you doing?"

"Well," I say. Why did she bring me over here? I really just want to scream into a pillow and talking to people is only exasperating this need.

"Bancroft didn't need to get so angry at you yesterday in class," She says, lowering her voice as if we are discussing privileged information when the entire castle knows that our Charms Professor blew up at me because I was too busy writing my manifesto on why I should be allowed to transfer houses. 

"Oh," I say. "Right. It wasn't that bad."

Another thing about the Hufflepuffs—I get stiff around them. Honestly, I get stiff around anyone who isn't like my cousins. You know, excessive loudness, obnoxious, and intrusive? The Hufflepuffs aren't really any of those things. So when I'm with them, I feel like I'm the most bland, dry version of myself who speaks in polite responses and scowls a lot. It's not a good look for me. 

"Well, she shouldn't have yelled at you. It was out of line." I nod awkwardly. Yasmin offers me a smile of encouragement before pulling out her Charms textbook. I already know what she's going to ask me before she does.

"Do you wanna compare Charms notes?"

Called it. Bloody predictable Hufflepuffs.

"Sorry," I shake my head. "Mine are rubbish anyways." Plus, I've got a pillow that's screaming my name. 

After I crawl through the stupid tunnel into my bedroom, I take in a sharp inhale of the kitchen fumes that drift into our common rooms which can be good or bad, depending on how you feel about whatever food they're making. 

Me, for one, I hate the smell of food in the dorms. 

For eating purposes, it smells delicious. But as a perfume for the room, food smells like regurgitated animal flesh to me. 

"Mmm," My dormmate Logan Samuels sniffs in the aroma. "Treacle tart."

"Mm," I gag. My other dormmate, Benjamin Jain, groans from his bed.

He's a vegetarian.

"Hmph," He says. "Does anyone want to compare Charms notes with me?"

Bloody predictable Hufflepuffs!

Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I do need to recheck my Charms notes. God forbid I get below an A or mum will have my my head. 

"Sure," I say. "Lemme get mine from my—PUTAIN D'MERDE!" 

My legs go all tingly and numb and then start to feel like jello as I roll onto the floor and clutch my foot tenderly. 

It's a bit dramatic, my reaction to stubbing my toe on the bronze footings near our beds, but in my defense, it really hurt. 

The setup of these dorms astound me. Who designed this place? Practically a disaster in the making. All the circles and plants with teeth and stupid bronze footings and bronze ormanents and bronze....

"What happened?" Benjamin asks. "You okay?" 

Stupid fucking Hufflepuffs.

"Why is there so much bloody bronze in this place anyways?" I mutter. 

Then an idea pops into my head.

"Headmaster, Headmaster!" I exclaim to Neville the next day. "I'm allergic to bronze! Deathly!" 


End file.
